by Jane Cousins
And when she’d requested the Internal Threat management position, citing family reasons. He remembered wondering if she would be satisfied for long with that rather narrowly focused department. That doubt surfacing again upon meeting her in person for the first time, following her relocation to the London Head office. She had struck him as nothing but smart, driven and dedicated. He didn’t believe a woman of her calibre and background would ultimately be happy in a role, that due to its focus, kept her effectively deskbound.
Following the failed hit on his life, he should have remembered those lurking doubts. But then he’d discovered the Southern Sanctuary, set eyes on Patricia, and somewhere, on some deep, unconscious, fundamental level, he had finally understood Mara’s decision. That need for something more tangible in your life than just work and duty. And he’d rather blithely thought that Mara wouldn’t risk her new found happiness, her husband, the step-children. But fuck, they had just been the perfect camouflage.
That bloody International School.
It was the perfect cover. Allowing Mara access to International contacts. At the same time, given the number of high ranking British off spring that attended, it was afforded far reaching protection.
Trying to identify who Mara was working with, was a daunting problem, given the long list of viable candidates that had direct or indirect connections to the school.
Following the Occupational Health and Safety Inspection yesterday, he’d spent the remainder of the day down in his lair, running search parameters on all the children attending Bailly Prive and the staff. When he’d checked this morning the computer was still chugging away making connections. It would be his job to take all that information, collate it and whittle it down to the most viable contenders.
Then it would be a question of confirming his suspicions. Luckily, this Saturday, there was a school event that Mara had already RSVP’d that she would be attending. It was the perfect opportunity to observe Mara’s actions and contacts.
Though Cullen was torn, he’d promised Patricia in on this operation. And whilst her presence Saturday night at the function could potentially prove incredibly useful, not just because she was smart and had excellent observational skills. But she could act as both a shield and a distraction. Mara shouldn’t be actively looking for him, not at the school event. But she was a highly trained field operative. She would be suspicious of new people and unfamiliar faces. Especially single men.
If she did somehow recognise him. She would realise she’d been identified and either go to ground, or worse case scenario, she would go out with a very big, very devastating bang. One that could potentially rock Britain’s ruling elite so hard they would be hard pressed to recover. Something his innate Archer instincts could not allow.
So he would go ahead. Keep his word to Patricia, involve her. Use her. Knowingly and with forethought put her in danger. Bloody Hell, he hated the idea but he could see no other recourse. And though he’d like to promise that he would do everything in his power to protect her, keep her safe, if it came down to a choice between Patricia and protecting the sovereign soil? He had a nasty feeling he would be unable to fight his instincts and Patricia could well suffer.
Damn, things had gotten complicated fast. All he could do was trust in his abilities and power on through.
He’d just finished coaxing a book titled - Factors inhibiting Social and Cognitive Relationships to open, when he felt the air pressure in the Vault change, signalling someone had entered. He recognised Patricia’s voice instantly.
“…hard to understand?”
“You return my gifts but state that you are not upset.”
Ah, and Cullen recognised that aggressive, angry voice, it belonged to Apep’s Head of Security, the bare-chested, long haired warrior git, Zartel.
“I understand that you are trying to apologise for what happened at the meeting the other day. But these gifts are too… personal in nature. A simple acknowledgment and apology would have been perfectly appropriate.”
“Apep was made aware of our unfortunate transgressions. He has commanded that suitable reparations be made.”
“Then you should be making them to Cara. Not the figs, or the massage oil, and certainly not the painting, but that apology I mentioned.”
“Apep’s token of respect has already been sent to his blood descendant. But I am given to understand that it is vitally important in such situations to make commensurate reparations to the hostess of such a gathering, in this case that would be you. And there is no greater gift, honour, than the privilege of oiling my flesh and feeding me.”
Cullen wasn’t surprised to see Patricia was all but speechless as she and her sword carrying bo-hunk shadow entered Section Six. And for the first time the duo were made aware that they were not alone. Cullen’s amusement fled as he noticed how close Zartel was standing beside Patricia, and the proprietary look he shot Cullen’s way when their eyes clashed.
“Oh.” Patricia could feel her cheeks heat up. She’d been unaware Cullen was on Vault duty today. Damn, how much had he overheard? “Hello. I was just bringing some new wards for Section Six.” She held up the two cages. “You remember-”
“Zarty.”
“Crusty.”
Insults? Patricia rolled her eyes. She noted the two men exchange heated, challenging looks, as they acknowledged one another. Interesting that despite their large disparity in heights and the fact that Zartel sported a lethal broad sword strapped to his back, the warrior reacted to Cullen like he would any deadly adversary. Yet Cullen was doing nothing more than sitting on a stool at the work bench, wearing light grey trousers and a French blue shirt with the sleeves rolled back. Looking relaxed and exuding confidence.
On the bench in front of him a large book was splayed out face down, Cullen’s index finger idly rubbing up and down the book’s spine. The sight was hypnotic, soothing. For some reason Patricia was visualising that finger tracing up and down her own spine. Ridiculous. She shook off that fanciful notion.
“Zartel. Cullen.” She made sure to enunciate their names clearly. Though she shouldn’t have bothered, as it seemed neither man was paying any attention to her. They were too busy locked in their staring competition. Honestly, men. Always trying to exert their dominance. What these two didn’t understand was that in this Library, Patricia was Ming the Merciless, Mistress of all she surveyed. And she did not have time in her busy schedule for this shit.
Huffing a sigh, she stepped away from them. “Okay, why don’t I just put these over here, log them in and I’ll leave you two alone to stare into one another’s eyes.” Patricia was just about to heave the two cages up on to a high shelf where there was space available when they were all but snatched out of her hands by Zartel.
It would have been fine, but in his eagerness he dropped the bag of gifts returned to him on Patricia’s foot. Ouch, clutching at the nearest bench she rubbed her bruised appendage, sending Zartel a nasty look but he was too busy sending a smug and superior look of his own Cullen’s way. “I will help you.”
Gritting her teeth to keep from kicking the big sword wielding lug, she really hadn’t needed any help to begin with, Patricia managed a dry. “Thanks.” As she pointed up to the shelf where she’d like the cages placed.
Ignoring her directions, Zartel stepped over to the work bench. “I will make room for them here.” His large muscular arm sweeping out.
“No.” Patricia really did try to stop him but she was hampered by the pile of scattered gifts at her feet.
Cullen likewise tried to block Zartel but the taller man used the cages in his hands like a battering ram. Cullen was left with little choice but to push his rolling stool back out of the way as Zartel carelessly swept aside stationery, a pot of glue, a scroll and several books.
Zartel all but dropped the cages as the large book Cullen had been soothing reacted badly to being startled and chomped down hard on his forearm. The warrior roared out in surprised pain.
“Don’t hurt
it.” Patricia admonished. Zartel’s cursing didn’t bother her but the sight of him slamming the book against the workbench repeatedly, trying to get it to release him, horrified her.
Cullen tried to help, but Zartel was waving his muscular arm with the book still firmly attached to it in such an erratic manner that he had no hope of unclamping the book. The large, flailing warrior, knocking a cage flying off a lower shelf. It broke open upon impact, the book inside promptly making a bid for freedom. Patricia slammed her foot down on it smartly, keeping it pinned in place. Ducking, as Zartel’s arm swung out in her direction, almost clocking her in the temple.
Grrr, if he would just calm down and listen to her instructions, or maybe let Cullen help, who’d already established a rapport with the book. But no, Zartel was too busy cursing and flapping his arms. Put him on a dance floor and add a band and he was basically doing the chicken dance. Heavens, now she was having to grit her teeth to stop from laughing.
Honestly, it was just a book. And okay, the staple teeth seemed to have a very good grip on Zartel’s flesh. But the blood leaking down his arm was minimal in comparison to any injury he’d surely ever incurred on the battlefield, let alone training. Such a big baby.
Cullen ducked as Zartel’s beefy arm once more swiped the air. “Just quit moving.” He ducked again. “Seriously?”
Hmmm, maybe if he could somehow get behind the warrior, put him in a chokehold and knock him unconscious. And why did that idea appeal so very much? Unfortunately the logistics made it all but impossible. The space too narrow. The hulk’s neck too thick.
Still, maybe Cullen could just pick up a heavy, handy, nearby tome and knock the idiot out. Also a very appealing idea but not necessarily a smart one. He’d have to get a thirty-three degree angle on the blow, aided by a four point two increase in velocity. Unless he climbed a bookcase and got a run up that just wasn’t going to be a viable option. Maybe… shit, where had Zartel pulled that knife from?
“Do not hurt that book.” Patricia eyed the large knife in horror. Watching in disbelief as Zartel raised it high and began a downward arc, obviously intending to stab the book. Enough. No one hurt her books. Snapping her head back Patricia pursed her lips and hissed, the narrow laser beam of sound she emitted broke the emergency sprinkler directly over Zartel’s head. Foam gushed downwards, completely encasing the warrior from head to toe.
Suddenly there was nothing but eerie silence and a six-foot-six statue of a warrior standing in the middle of the aisle, frozen, in the act of stabbing a book. Very contemporary with a surrealist twist.
“Wow.” Cullen slowly leaned forward, rubbing the spine of the foam free book. It instantly relaxed its grip on Zartel’s stone like arm and allowed Cullen to close it and place it down gently on the work bench. “I think Zarty might have finally found his calling. Statue, nice. That is some security system.” He was trying to work out how it was triggered. It would be good to know, he didn’t want to accidentally set it off and be turned into a work of art.
Patricia was glad she had a moment to think, bending down to pick up the book she had trapped under her foot, lifting it and securing it under a heavy paperweight for the moment. “The foam only works on organic matter. The jets can be triggered singularly, by Section, or Vault wide. If you find yourself under attack you can turn yourself to stone, staying safe until help arrives.” Patricia waved her hand at a series of switches, indicating the controls. Turning quickly to the nearest computer she tapped in a code. “Just letting the front desk know everything is under control.”
Hmm, Cullen had seen the emergency panels placed at regular intervals along every aisle in the Vault. The question was, how had Trix managed to reach it, given its position and her arm length? Hmm, another mysterious layer that he would need to peel off this fascinating woman. “So how long do the effects of the foam last?”
“Sixty minutes. Generally.” She edged around Zartel’s frozen form, unsurprised to find that he still managed to look gorgeous, despite the ferocious killing look on his face. She glanced at Cullen and the phone he had in his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Taking a couple of shots for my Community Notice board. You did say it was important to keep it up to date.”
“You do like to live dangerously.” She couldn’t help but laugh.
“Hey, look, grapes.” Cullen leaned over and swept the fallen gift boxes back into the carry bag, picking the bag up and snagging the grapes. “Oh, and figs, score. Want some?” He offered them to Patricia.
She looked at Zartel’s frozen form and shrugged. Zartel was going to wake up in sixty minutes swinging that knife around. The only reason she stayed she told herself was for the books, several tended to get a little rowdy if they smelt blood. Grabbing a handful of grapes she leant back against the work bench.
“Is your foot okay?”
The man missed nothing. “It’s fine, no damage. How are you enjoying Vault Duty?” She was glad for the support of the bench as Cullen suddenly grinned, his whole face lighting up, those jade green eyes twinkling with amusement.
“This place is so cool. I don’t suppose you’d like to explain to me how the dimensions of the Vault fit into the Library floorplan?”
“Magic.”
“Yes, but how?”
“One of the Library founders was obsessed with Spatial theory. This is what happens when magic and science work together.”
“I don’t suppose this founder left any notes?”
“Very extensive, very dry diaries. One hundred and two volumes. You could be the very first person to ever check them out.”
“You mean to say you are re-instating my borrowing privileges?”
“I’ll do a swap. You return some of the recent fiction that has made its way mysteriously to the Annexe and you can wade through Ezekiel Bright’s diaries at your leisure.”
Hmmm, that was a little too easy. He would have to take a closer look at the recent fiction that had arrived. He might have leverage and didn’t know it. “I’ll get back to you on that. It’s a rather busy time of the year just now, with all the Inspections, special projects and Christmas looming. Fig?”
“Yes, thanks.” Patricia took a fig and bit into it, glad to have something to do to hide her disappointment. Damn, she’d been so close to getting her hands on the recently purchased romance books. “So, what’s the latest on your mole hunt?”
“About that. I need a partner Saturday night, UK time. The Bailly Prive Parents & Friends Christmas Fundraiser is scheduled to take place.”
Patricia liked more than she should how easily Cullen used the word partner. And given all her recent early morning starts, what was one more in the name of justice? “The timing sounds doable. Will you have a surveillance van organised by then?”
“Oh, no, you and I are going in undercover. I’ve found the perfect disguises for us. Do you think you are up for it?”
Patricia hesitated, undercover? That was a little more active than she had imagined her role would be. But the more she thought about it, the more she could see that Cullen was right. A big party like that. They’d learn very little sitting outside taking pictures of the coming and goings of the attendees. Circulating as staff, serving shrimp on toast and crab puffs was a perfect excuse to mix and mingle.
And there was that distinct challenging gleam in Cullen’s jade green eyes as if he expected her to baulk or say she wasn’t up to the task. “Sure. That sounds fine.” She had plenty of black skirts and white shirts.
“Good.” Cullen leaned over and slid a folder out from the bottom of a pile and handed it over.
Curious, Patricia flicked through the contents. Hmm, a series of pictures depicting gorgeous women. Each one younger, more beautiful and more scantily clad than the last. It was like one of those flip cartoons, as the hemlines rose, the hair grew bigger and the décolletage more daring. “What am I looking at here precisely?”
“Those are the previous five wives of Luis Adoum. You are looking at a winner
of the Miss Columbia competition. A runner up for Miss Universe. And a former teen pop sensation. As you can see, he has a certain… type.”
“Just who is Luis Adoum when he is at home?”
“Adoum is a shadowy figure, believed to have his fingers in many highly questionable activities. You’ll find a dossier on him in there. He’s perfect for our requirements. He’s rarely photographed. Former military. And he’s the cousin of the current Ambassador from Ecuador based in London. And most importantly. His one and only Godson attends Bailly Prive.”
“And you want me to…?”
“Play wife number six, Evangeline Tios. My sources tell me they married three weeks ago and are spending their honeymoon on a very secluded, very private island. That last picture, that’s her.”
Patricia held up the photo. Good Goddess, that was a lot of skin on display, and the glitter, sequins and pasties did little to hide bodacious assets. The pictured woman’s dark red hair was slicked back in a bun, and a layer of thick makeup turned this beauty into something exotic and alluring. “Is she some sort of dancer?”
“Got it in one. She’s a prima ballerina with the Modern Ecuadorian Elite Dance Company. The current Director, an ex-lover, is considered very avant-garde and has a background in the porn industry.”
“Now that I can believe.” Patricia studied the barely there costume Evangeline was wearing with trepidation. “And you want me to pretend to be this sexed up prima ballerina?”
“Admittedly, I wasn’t sure if… well…” Cullen’s gaze assessed Patricia from head to toe. “I guess it is a lot to ask. Especially since we will be dealing with very dangerous people, ones not afraid to kill or give the command to kill.” Mara wouldn’t hesitate if she felt threatened. He knew her history.
